


Compulsory

by starzaya



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Possible Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzaya/pseuds/starzaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo did not consider himself a man of faith. But if God existed, the doctor would come out with a cheerful but extremely stressed smile on her ageless face, and tell him everything he wants to hear. You could say it was a prayer. A prayer to the artificial angel in there to work her miracles with her brilliant medical technologies. That instead of coming out with reality, she would grin at him and say "that'll be a few million dollars" and he would pay her every last dime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compulsory

**Author's Note:**

> Short little drabble to help me get through writers block. Not really edited much. Just put my fingers on the keyboard and typed. Also #originaltitles

That stupid, reckless piece of  _shit_.

In any other universe, this would have happened, but it would not have hit Hanzo Shimada so hard. He would not be feeling the constricting forces on his heart, that beat in time with the thoughts in his head. The distinct dread that outweighed everything he has ever felt before in his existence was hugging his lungs. Butterflies turned moths fought in his stomach, and he would deny the slight shaking, as he sat outside of Doctor Ziegler's emergency room, in the current safehouse. In any other universe, he would be distraught but not _this_ hard. And on top of all of this horrid awfulness that filled the atmosphere around him, the floor seemed to be more comfortable than this chair.

He did not consider himself a man of faith. But if God existed, the doctor would come out with a cheerful but extremely stressed smile on her ageless face, and tell him everything he wants to hear. You could say it was a prayer. A prayer to the artificial angel in there to work her miracles with her brilliant medical technologies. That instead of coming out with reality, she would grin at him and say "that'll be a few million dollars" and he would pay her every last dime.

On the outside, Hanzo probably looked bored. A bit shaken, but overall just being the standoffish asshole he normally was. If anybody were to ask what he's doing, rotting outside of the office, instead of letting his tongue run with truth he would lie through trickster teeth: "I have  _some_ respect for the man". Or maybe, just glare, bemusedly, as if the answer was obvious and they were idiotic to question it. He was busying himself with a notebook, drawing mindless designs. Initially, it was supposed to distract him, so he wasn't bracing himself for the inevitable. Now, it's turned into swirls, designs of no meaning. Pencil put to paper just to pass the time. Any concentration that was meant to be put on the paper was elsewhere.

The smell of chemicals, pristine conditions for a seedy safehouse, was the only thing in the air. No indications that something dire was happening. It was mostly silent, save for breathing, the occasional beep inside of the door to Hanzo's right. Every time that beep went off, he winced, knowing what it meant;

It meant the patient's heart stopped.

Jesse McCree was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. A mission with Hanzo was meant to go without complications, it was simple, easy. Just another grind at Overwatch. Cookie cutout of a mission, really; they had done the pretty much exact thing dozens of times. This was not anything new. Yet, there was a complication. Something that nobody saw coming, because of a goddamned  _spy_. Something overlooked moronically. It should not have happened. Everybody was at fault. But most of the blame could be placed on the elder Shimada. It was his job, after all, to notice snipers and take them out. 

But he hadn't been paying attention. He didn't check the tops of the buildings extensively enough. He did not observe the surroundings well enough. These little mistakes could be the end for somebody, especially in these kinds of situations, where trained professionals can read these missteps and take full advantage of them. Become the infection in the paper cut. 

Embarrassingly and unfortunately, while Jesse was busy clearing the area, he noticed the sniper. He hit them straight in the face, with his seamless aim, but they both noticed each other at the same time, and they whipped their rifle at Hanzo. Three bullets, recoil placed on dead limbs; probably because of the suicide pill they had ingested mere seconds earlier, so the recoil wouldn't matter; left the gun... Jesse noticed this too,

and jumped to take the bullets.

One hit his torso, getting embedded in his body armor. Another went into his shoulder, ramming its way deep into the bone. The last one, that damning bullet, went straight through his hat and his skull and into his brain and Hanzo didn't see if it came out or not as his eyes widened, horrified at the shit-eating grin Jesse plastered across his face. 

The first feeling was denial.

No, no, no, no, no, no, _NO_.

Everything went on overload as he had jammed the emergency button on the Overwatch communication, several times, and faltered as he went over training for an agent with a fatal wound. Cover injury. Elevate wound. Wait for backup. Try not to lose control. Stay calm.

The packs at his side had everything for this.

All of it was used on his dying significant other.

The second feeling was grief.

And everything faded into blurred lines, until it all went black.

Time passed quickly, all the faces, everything said, faded as the facade strengthened, became a cold, emotionless, defensive front. Hanzo had been around death his entire life. It was his aura. He was used to it. He'd killed his own brother, and but that wasn't like this.  _This_ was a hundred times worse. Or maybe a hundred times better. Maybe both, at the exact same feeling, but it was more bitter than sweet. More icy than warm. You get the picture.

Blood was everywhere, dotting Hanzo's vision, on his hands, on his mind, but devoid in his veins. Deprived limbs went numb, until everything did. His brain shut down, his heart didn't beat hard enough to bring more than "don't think" to his fingertips and toes. Regret and remorse, intrusive thoughts, were blocked, pushing against the floodgate which was soon to break.

If love was watching someone die, then this was infatuation.

And now he sat, here, on the chair, realizing he had begun to tear up, as the beeping kept going. It didn't stop. It kept going. It kept eliciting tears from the nearly forty year old man who was upset over some idiot being an idiot and saving his own life. He should be happy, grateful, but he could not find any positive feelings as angry foreign languages could be heard. Gradually getting louder, in frustration, regret, and disbelief. It turned into wistful, desperate cries until it all silenced, left only to the sound of a steady, drawn out beep.

Hanzo's pencil completely stopped.

The door to the office opened. Slowly. Reality began to sunk in, as Angela Ziegler said words she was ashamed to say she said so often.

"I'm sorry."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah
> 
> Contact me at:  
> <http://starzaya.tumblr.com/>


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